When I was pregnant the husband and I both agreed he’d be the ahem, “bread winner” and I’d stay home with demon spawn. I was totally okay with this because I am awful at holding down jobs thus changing “careers” every ten seconds [can we say personal pet sitting business], and really am content writing for pennies. Pennies don’t pay no bills. Pennies don’t buy no Baby Gap Onesies [unless you get them off Ebay, but anyway...] And husband has his own successful business, and until I write a fantastical novel that makes me filthy rich I’ll just clean poo diapers and sing nursery rhymes all day.
Right. Mind you I was pregnant therefor chock full of carbs, naps, and therefore dellusional. I imagined during the two or three hour long naps my daughter would take I’d write…we’d go to the park and I’d use colorful adjectives to describe trees…we’d snuggle on the couch and I’d watch movies…and the big plus? Since husband and I both love being alone, so would our daughter. She’d find spending time in her play pen with some teether’s a fascinating experience. Are you ready to puke yet?
My daughter hates napping, she spends ten minutes in her play pen before shrieking, she doesn’t snuggle unless I kind of force her into some UFC-like move and hold her down, and we haven’t spent too much time at the park. I tried that one day, figured I’d walk her and our dog but I kept running over his paws with the stroller, and when we arrived at the entrance there was a huge mud-pit that I was too lazy exhausted to cross.
I don’t have the best time with my daughter all day. I know I should be grateful, so many people need a double income to make living comfortably happen but I have no idea what the fuck to do with her. By 1pm I’m done. I’m ready to retire. I’ve sang lame songs, fed her pureed food, let her crawl around and stopped her dozens of times from putting unmentionables into her mouth, we’ve read stories, we’ve pooped, peed, and vomited, and on occasion we’ve watched Baby Einstein. 1pm is when I look at the clock and go “holy SHIT what am I going to do all day…” I don’t drive, and so sometimes we walk to stores and I spend unnatural amounts of time looking at socks. Husband drops us off places so we can spend the day doing fun mommy-infant stuff and that’s great but I am constantly wondering if I have any email.
And here’s the catch. We found a fantastic nanny dubbed The Baby Whisperer who takes her off my hands 15 hrs a week. Do the math – that’s 3x per week for roughly 5 hours. And it helps, I’m at least 15% more sane. Some people even scowl and ask me why the fuck I’m even complaining they’d KILL for that time. But I’m a brat, I suck, what can I say? The four days she’s in my care for 24hrs I am grumpy. When she won’t nap and I’m stuck playing peek-a-boo for three hours I want to kill. When she’s cranky and is flinging herself around like a madwoman I wonder why I didn’t just get a few dogs instead of giving birth, at least they sleep through the night.
And yet I love her with such a fiery passion sometimes it freaks me out. I love to sniff her little ears, and kiss in between her toes. She makes me crack up, and we do have fun. I am proud to be her momma. I just wish she were six. If she were six we could read Little Woman and bake cookies. You know?
So for those of you working moms: Do you wish you could stay home or would you find yourself going insane? And SAHM: Do you find yourself going insane staying home…
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